Boys And Their Toys
by J'Tok
Summary: Most Human!Impala fics automatically make Baby into a young, attractive female. Why? So writers can give her a sexy tattoo. But what if the truth were a little different? Just a parody to poke fun at typical aspects of Human!Impala fics. Humbly dedicated to the Always Keep Fighting movement!
1. Chapter 1

**Title** : Boys And Their Toys

 **Summary** : Most Human!Impala fics automatically make Baby into a young, attractive female. Why? So writers can give her a sexy tattoo. But what if the truth were a little different? Just a parody to poke fun at typical aspects of Human!Impala fics. Humbly dedicated to the Always Keep Fighting movement!

 **A/N** : I just found out about the Always Keep Fighting candles that were lit at the Supernatural panel at comicon this year. I couldn't make it there, but I'd like to dedicate this story to the AKF campaign in the hopes that it might've made someone's day just a little bit brighter.

May continue this later, may not, I'm not sure yet. Let me know if you want this to continue!

 **Rating** : M only because I'm scared of the rating police. I'd rather worry about over-rating than under-rating.

 **Disclaimer** : Don't own Supernatural, and some of me is partially ashamed to own this story line.

* * *

Object-To-Human transformations can be tricky to deal with – after all, they were just ideas, and everyone knows that the human mind's version of an idea differs from person to person. Especially with kids. The random, small, middle-of-nowhere town was crawling with pink unicorns, dinosaurs, and giant robots brought to life. True, they poofed back into their original forms when sprayed with grape juice, but many of the toys didn't want to be turned back, despite the damage they were causing. You see, many toys didn't seem to realize that they were real.

"Gah! What the hell is this red stuff? Come on, give me my arm back so I can snap it back on!"

"But we're best friends Tommy! Why won't you play 'Shoot Your Sister' anymore?"

Although the worse ones were probably the toys that did realize their new state, but ended up being the type of humans that didn't really work well with kids.

"GET BACK HERE YOU LITTLE BRAT! You wanted a tea party, and we are damn well going to have it, understood? Now sit in the goddamn chair and drink _nothing_ and eat _nothing_! AND _ENJOY_ IT!"

So, of course the Winchester brothers were taking a break from the normal angst and drama that unnecessarily permeated their lives, and going on a nice refreshing hunt that conveniently took them in the path of this random, small, middle-of-nowhere town.

"Why are we here, Dean? What are the chances that anything of interest is going to happen in this small town randomly selected in the middle-of-nowhere of an unnamed state?"

"The author told me to."

"What?"

"Um … Baby's got a bit of a rattle that I want to stop to check it out?"

"Oh … I don't hear anything."

"I wouldn't expect you to, Sam, it takes a finely trained ear to truly understand when Baby's speaking, isn't that right girl?"

"Dean, it's a car."

"He just doesn't understand us Baby."

When they reached the center of town, it was only to find chaos instead of the cheap, skanky motel they'd expected.

"This is chaos!" Dean yelled in frustration, honking the horn. The road was being blocked by a parade of men that looked remarkably similar in height and build, with not a single man under 6' among them, all clothed very conservatively with multiple layers, in a picket line with signs claiming that they will not be used. Some appeared to be shaking and trembling uncontrollably, some had an arm sticking out at odd angles. They appeared mainly focusing on blocking the local small-town sex shop, and let the brothers through without much issue.

Their next obstacle was a similar parade of women, all inhumanly curvaceous, mostly blonde, and none of them appeared capable of closing their mouths. They were parading outside the local small-town golfing club, and though they weren't actually blocking the road, it took a moment for both Winchesters to stop gawking long enough to drive by.

With the motel in sight, Sam and Dean were not happy when their route was blocked suddenly by a large amount of men crossing the road. They were marching, had old weapons strapped across them, and were painted entirely green. Including clothing, skin, and hair. Even the weapons.

Sam used his incredible intellect to determine what was going on.

"Dean," he said, waiting for the wounded men to finish crossing, "I think I've determined what's going on."

"Well?"

"The whole town's toys are turning into their real-life representations. There's probably a spell or a single cursed object responsible."

Dean thought for a moment, glancing at the green army man stuffed into the backseat ashtray suspiciously. "So, the girls outside the golf club were blow-up dolls?"

"And the men outside the sex store were probably dildos. I'm guessing that the spell's definition of 'toy' isn't entirely restricted to children's toys." Sam pointed out.

Dean frowned in determination, and turned Baby around in a perfectly-executed stunt driver illegal u-turn, conveniently headed for the local police station. "We've got to stop this, Sam. We can't let those innocent sex toys suffer any longer."

"I thought you wanted to check a rattle in the car?"

"Baby understands, she knows that we can't just sit here while poor, forlorn sex toys get humanized. We've got to save them. I'll make sure Baby's in perfect working condition afterwards."

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's obsession. "Dean, it's a car, not a person." He said in a completely non-forshadow-y way.

"Just because she's not made of flesh and blood doesn't mean I don't love her. It's okay Baby."

The car sputtered, and despite Dean and Sam's exclamations of surprise, slowed to a stop. Luckily for the Winchesters, other oncoming traffic was being delayed by a group of My Little Ponies that had started up an alfalfa tax on passing motorists.

The Impala's form blurred, trembling, forcing Sam and Dean to leap out of the vehicle. It started to shrink, and waver, and generally reform itself into something … some _one_ else.

Open black leather vest, a tight white crop top underneath. Fingerless black leather studded gloves.

 _Tight_ black leather bell-bottom pants with fringe, studded belt.

Heavy black boots, skull-and-crossbones bandana holding back shoulder-length hair.

An exceptionally hairy beer-belly.

"Hey dudes, this is totally rad!" _He_ exclaimed, throwing _his_ arms in the air and revealing _his_ extensive, greying armpit hair.

Dean looked on with no small amount of horror as Baby, his sweet Impala, was humanized into some old biker guy from the sixties. His mouth had dropped open in surprise and no small amount of fear. He couldn't seem to vocalize anything.

Sam had a little more composure. "Uh … Impala?"

"You got it Sammy!" The older man turned to face Sam, and Dean saw the Chevrolet logo in fading white on the back of his vest. "My name's actually Roy, but I'll totally answer to Baby. It's all cool."

Dean still could not vocalize. Breathing was first on the reboot list.

Roy turned around again to face Dean, and smiled fondly at the man. "Can't ch'ya dig it man? Now I can say it back! I love you too, dude!"

Dean's brain screeched to a halt. Brain cursed up a storm as communications went down – Logic wasn't responding to the paper airplanes, Fight's computer had crashed, and over in it's neglected corner, Flight was just running around in circles. Strategy wouldn't stop texting "WTFFFFFFFFF" over to Brain, and the Kill-It-Reflex Department was painting picket signs and tearing up their Collective Agreement with the Brain. Long story short, Dean fainted dead away in the street.

Sam ignored him. "You're … the Impala?"

Roy nodded as he went to prod at Dean with his foot. "Right on. Full name's actually D. T. Roy Impala the thirty-two thousandth, but that's a gnarly name, so Roy's good. Better than being named after my grandmother." Dean grunted a little, but was otherwise non-responsive.

Sam, not wanting to talk across the street for much longer (the Ponies were extending their blockade), dragged his brother onto the sidewalk. Roy followed. Logic finally submitted it's report to Sam's Brain. "This is because of the curse, isn't it? Dean sees enough of a toy in you that it's transformed you."

"Maybe. Don't really think of myself as a toy, man, but whatever floats his boat. I don't judge. Might'a had somethin' to do with that totally non-forshadowed army man you stuck in my ashtray, or the Legos Dean shoved down my vents. That was totally not cool – if I'm going to sound like a pack-a-day smoker, I should 'least get some good grass out of it." Roy lowered himself to sit on the curb beside the still-fainted Dean. "Still awesome though. And it's a witch, dude, that didn't want her kid to be lonely while she was out of town."

"How do you know that?" Sam resumed the kicking of his brother for the fun of it. "It seems awfully convenient."

"Don't over-analyze dude, just open your mind. It could be the author wanting to get the plot over with so she can get back to making fun of established fandom norms, or it could be that I'm more aware than normal toys because I'm a hunter's car."

Sam pondered, Sam shrugged, Sam said "Good enough for me." Sam's brain filed the necessary reports with the Threat Detection Department (Level: No Threat), the Odd Happenstances Office (Level: Orange Delta D), and the Dean Blackmail Center (Level: Never Let Him Forget). Sam continued kicking Dean.

Roy grinned. "Righteous, man! Don't be oppressed by the fourth wall."

"What?"

"Nothing."

Dean groaned, returning to consciousness. Rubbing at his eyes wearily, Dean wondered why he'd had such an odd dream, and why he appeared to be laying on cement, and why a purple horse was strolling down the street across from him. Further down, some kind of car-based robot appeared to be waging war on the My Little Pony brigade. Dean sat up. Dean saw Roy smiling brightly at him.

Dean squealed like a pig and scrambled backwards.

"Hey dude!" Roy awkwardly stood (not easy to stand from a curb with a large beer-belly and _tight_ leather pants). "Back with the living, again, eh?"

Dean _eeped_. "B-B-Baby?"

The humanized Impala shrugged. "I can dig it. You're always sweatin' over me to make sure I'm good, so call me what you want. Free country, man, but I usually go by Roy."

Sam stood back and smiled at the happy reunion.

Dean attempted to vocalize again, starting something only to stop. Roy reached into his vest a pulled out a bottle of motor oil, settling in to wait for Dean to process.

Meanwhile, in Dean's Brain, most departments were bemoaning having upgraded from Windows XP in the first place. Logic had given up and was banging his head on the keyboard. Fight had thrown his keyboard at Flight, and was now stuck at an error prompt page: No Input Device Detected – [Y] to Continue, [Esc] to Return to Startup, [N] to Shut Down. Strategy finally managed to get a paper football to land on Logic's head, and Brain finally got the report that Baby had been humanized by the Deus Ex Ma – the _curse_. Definitely the curse.

"It's – it's really you, isn't it Impala?" Dean gulped.

Roy shrugged, and turned, reaching to pull down his _tight_ leather pants. "I got a tattoo if you wanna-"

"No!" Both Winchesters shouted. Dean hid his eyes, while Sam leapt forward and held his hands out as if dealing with a mad suicide bomber.

"Really, man, that's alright. We believe you. Right Dean?" Sam cautioned.

"Yep! Really believing over here!"

Roy looked almost disappointed.

Sam continued, and approached cautiously. "Besides, don't we have a hunt to do? Dean, Roy conveniently knows everything we need to know, which is good because I think the local authorities are busy with that purple dragon over there."

Roy sighed, and nodded, turning completely to face both Sam and Dean, who was slowly standing. "You were right Dean, it is tragic. It's not just the dildos and blow-up dolls either. I have a trippy mental connection with all the toys, and there's a bunch of really frustrated former Barbie and Ken dolls too."

Dean rallied at the mention of the sex toys, and even worse, new human adults that _couldn't_ have sex. Something had to be done. "Right. So … Roy … what's going on?"

Roy explained everything again, and added, "the auth – or, the witch watches too much _Phineas and Ferb_ , so all the toys will be returned to normal with grape juice. But if we want to get all of them, dudes, we gotta find the First Toy. The witch's kid'll have it."

"Seriously man, enough with the fourth wall. Sam never gets it anyway." Dean hissed out the side of his mouth.

Roy burped loudly and put away his bottle of oil. "Dude's just repressed, Dean-o. He needs to find a chic and bring 'er back to me, like that Anna babe, she was cool. You know, man, I really thought she'd be a screamer. Guess you never can tell, eh?"

Dean paled and felt bile rising in his throat.

"Okay. Okay, so we're gonna need weapons, and grape juice. Which was in the … car." Sam paused in his pondering and looked over at Roy. Noticed that his brother looked on the verge of passing out again, but paid him little heed otherwise. Determined!Sam had gotten a job to focus on. Remembering the motor oil, Sam asked, "Roy, I don't suppose you've got our shotguns in your vest pocket?"

"Nah, man, not there. My vest has this wicked inter-dimensional rift with all the stuff you guys left under my hood and in my body, but not the trunk."

Dean, guessing where this line of thought was going, opened his mouth to interrupt Sam's next statement, but was too late. Sam asked, "so where's everything in the trunk?"

Roy grinned, reaching for the belt on his _tight_ leather pants, just as Dean shouted at the top of his lungs, "NO! THE PANTS STAY ON!"

A herd of Cabbage Patch dolls walking down the other sidewalk gave the group some sideways glances, and the overhead flying car-robot whistled. Somehow.

"Dudes, chill! Everything that was in the caboose is still _in the caboose_ , it's all cool."

"No, no it is not cool," Dean's voice was still a little hysterical, but he could get his message across. "We will find another way."

Sam's eyes widened at the realization that Dean had just saved him again. "Roy, do you really have an inter-dimensional rift in your ass?" He felt compelled to ask. Sam winced internally as he said it, as the comment was both out of the ordinary for him, and disgusting.

Roy scratched his impressively hairy belly. "No way, man, it's just down my pants. My ass is still my ass – Dean spent enough time rebuilding it, he should know."

Neither brother really knew what to say to that, though Sam was sure he heard a quietly whimpered " _eep_ '.

"Nah, the exhaust has gotta come out somewhere, ya dig? What goes in must come out, it's the circle of life." Roy suddenly looked a little sheepish, and scratched his graying beard. "Dudes, it can be pretty gnarly, I warn ya …"

Sam took a steadying breath. "Okay, we can still do this. It shouldn't be too hard to find the First Toy and take it out, without anything that was in the trunk."

"Right. Thanks for saying that Sam." Dean moaned in despair at the approaching giant car-robot.

The robot slammed a foot down worryingly close to the Winchesters, making the ground shake and cement crack, leaning close and roaring. Somehow.

"Hey, man, not cool!" Roy shouted in anger. "Keep your tires off my boys!" Roy pounded a fist on his belly and let out a mighty belch. The Burp reverberated in the air, rising up to shatter all the windows in the car-robot.

The construct yelped and ran away, narrowly missing a paper biplane flying overhead.

"Roy," Dean said, staring up at the retreating robot. For now, he could forget that his car, his Baby, had turned into (and apparently was all along) a 45 year old biker dude, and just appreciate the manliness of the epic belch. "That was awesome. Ten out of ten, dude."

"Sweet," Roy grinned and took out his bottle of motor oil. "Now, the author's trying to end the chapter, so let's go hunt down the First Toy!"

Sam, having missed the first part of the statement while marveling at the new My Little Green Army Calvary, stipulated, "as long as we don't need any ass-rift guns."

* * *

If you guys want this to continue, I'll need toy suggestions. I hope this managed to make someone's fight a bit easier for the day. Always Keep Fighting!


	2. Chapter 2

**Title** : Boys And Their Toys

 **A/N:** Damn. I hadn't actually _planned_ on writing more of this, more like just waiting a month before marking it 'Complete' anyway. Now I have to make an actual story out of the hodgepodge of stuff in Ch 1. Curse you Beckini for actually enjoying this! ;) (But thanks for the review).

As for the anon who signed as "Impala is a she", seriously dude, go take your blood pressure meds. This is _fanfiction_. Deep breaths.

And thanks, I suppose, the other thirty or so Visitors who _didn't review_ (hint hint), but also didn't say it was shit, so I guess that's a win? Seriously though, I'm glad I made you laugh Beckini, and anyone else who enjoyed Ch 1 and _didn't review_ (hint hint). In honour of you, the first reviewer, there will be a character in the next chapter that I think you'll recognize, Beckini. As a note to those readers that _didn't review_ (hint hint), I could really use some toy suggestions for next chapter unless you just want more of the perverted dregs of my mind.

I figure that now I'm actually writing some twisted, distorted version of something that may or may not be a plot if you squint and tilt your head like Cas does sometimes I can get three chapters out of this idea. Still mostly crack though. Bit of a slow start, now that there's a plot, but give it time.

Always Keep Fighting!

 **Rating** : M

 **Disclaimer** : Don't own Supernatural OR any of the toy-related franchises mentioned, and some of me is partially ashamed to own this story line. Okay, scratch that, I am _so_ glad none of my family knows I write fanfiction after publishing this chapter. Thank Chuck for pennames.

* * *

Our brave heroes bravely braved the toy-infested streets, braving untold horrors with bravery. They totally did not scream and hide behind the other two when encountering toy clowns, pogo sticks, or plastic tow-trucks brought to life. Or, in Dean's case, a suddenly clingy-and-cuddly 45ish year-old man with an impressively hairy beer belly and _tight_ leather pants.

"Once they get their hooks in you, man, you're a goner." Roy grabbed a suddenly-pale Dean's arm in … braveness. "Your Dad used to call them time to time, Dean, man, you can't let them take me! I got rights!"

"Dude! Get off!"

Sam stepped in, knowing Dean was still shaky from the pogo stick incident. "Roy, don't worry. If we have to, it'll be a flatbed, not a back-end lift. Besides, you know Dean sweats over you too much to let you go easily."

Roy calmed marginally, but insisted on holding onto Dean every time a 'lifed' tow-truck passed. Sam smiled at the touching show of trust and affection.

The intrepid adventurers turned a corner and came upon what may be the last bastion of safety and hope in this Chuck-forsaken, random, small, middle-of-nowhere town. A Totally Generic And Not Strange In Any Way Grocery Store sat not a block away. "At least we can get the grape juice there," Dean announced, starting off in the store's direction, resolutely ignoring the Fate _Will_ Be a Bitch, Winchester Law.

"Come on Roy," Sam encouraged, trying to get the biker to follow after the close encounter of the un-tow-n kind.

Dean paused, looking back at the other two. "Hey, uh, Roy?"

The car-turned-man did his best to focus. "Yeah?"

"Why _are_ you named Roy?"

"Dude, 'Det' was just too heavy, and every Impala and his assembler at the plant was named 'Troy'. I need something that expressed _me_ , while still being totally rad."

Dean frowned in confusion. "You dropped a letter off of 'Troy'." He deadpanned.

Roy shrugged. "You can still call me Baby if you want."

Sam began to worry about his brother's blood pressure. Dean's mind was preoccupied, a war raging between the Over-Analysis Team (Homophobia subdivision), the Eyes, and the Acquired Comforting Habits Office. So, Sam stepped in. "We should probably hurry, guys. The My Little Green Army Calvary was absolutely vicious to that SpongeBob that tried to pass off kelp, and I don't know about you guys, but I don't have any alfalfa.

The other two men glanced back at the multi-coloured approaching force. Roy reached into his vest pocket, pulling out a bag of what was undeniably marijuana. "You think they'd take this instead? Dean works so hard to polish me all the time that I really don't want to get coated in horse shit."

"Especially pink sparkly horse shit," Dean commented idly, looking curiously at the bag. Then his brother. Then the bag. Then his brother. "Well Sammy, that ain't mine. Looks like you do know how to party!"

"What?" Sam shrieked, taking a good look at the bag, before realizing what it was. "No! I've never-"

"Relax, dudes, this is old stuff. It was Mary's." Roy handed the bag of weed to Dean.

Dean's eyes widened, and he looked at the bag in an entirely different light. "This … was Mom's?"

Sam felt his mouth drop open, and began regarding the small baggie of illegal drugs as something of a lost treasure. "Mom smoked?" He felt himself ask faintly.

"Sure. Not with the buns in the oven, but that's sure how they got there, _if you know what I mean_ ," Roy smirked and nudged Dean with his elbow in a huh? huh? get it? gesture.

Dean promptly shrieked and dropped the baggie. Sam wasn't entirely sure if the moving ground was because of sudden dizziness, or just remnants from the pogo stick incident.

Roy caught it with totally awesome reflexes. "Yeah, she used to love to grab her weed, grab her husband, sometimes literally man, feisty woman there, and they'd climb in me, drive somewhere secluded and she'd say 'Mary wanna John' and-"

"Dude!" Sam interrupted, trying vainly to block out the sound with his hands. It was even penetrating his _hair_.

At the same time Dean yelled, "NO BABY!"

"What? Your parents really loved each other man, and you guys, and I know they loved me too. You should pay more attention to this stuff, Dean," Roy scolded, carefully putting the baggie back in his pocket. "Pretty sure it was how you and Sam both got created, man. Appreciate it."

"Love and pot?" Dean, very, very pale, questioned, not really wanting to know the answer.

"And my backseat. It was beautiful." Roy nodded sagely.

Dean swallowed back the nausea rising in his throat, noting that Sam had his hands on his knees, trying to steady his breathing. "Okay," he took a shaky breath, "okay, Roy, I'm begging you man, _never_ tell us _anything_ about our mother ever again. Guys, we have grape juice to get."

The partially nauseated group made their way to the grocery store. The store was a veritable hive of activity – a Borg cube that hadn't been fully 'lifed', and thus was not it's regular size, was lifting off, an actual horse-and-buggy was waiting irritably while Barbie tried to change a wheel, a _sweet_ blue car was just leaving, and about twenty multi-coloured, dog-sized frogs were jumping around.

They arrived in the foyer just in time to see a display of hockey cards and paraphernalia shake, and tremble, just as the Impala had. Sam and Dean exchanged worried glances, just as a full-size hockey rink _grew_ out of the floor right in front of them. The cards enlarged to be human sized, the corners folding over to act as hands and feet, and grabbed hockey sticks from their illustrations. Of course, the sheer number of teams, positions, and available pucks meant instantly instant chaos.

"This is chaos!" Sam yelled in frustration.

Dean frowned. "Hey, you can't use the same line from last chapter again, just switching the speaker, right?"

Roy shrugged. "It is kind of lazy writing."

The trio found then that they didn't know what chaos truly was when klaxons started blaring to announce multitudes of pucks in the goals. A bored, be-pimpled teenager idly holding a mop dropped it in surprise.

Sam, not having heard a word of his brother's conversation, turned to the other two, shouting "we've got to get to the grape juice before the hockey game spreads to the rest of the grocery store!"

Dean briefly wondered if that statement had ever been uttered before in the history of humanity. Somehow, he doubted it.

With no other choice, the champions began carefully making their way across the rink.

"Dammit you two, hurry up! We've got to get the – PUCK – out of here!" Sam screamed to warn his brother of the hockey puck flying to his head. A referee card skated over to scold the slap shooting player.

"I know!" Dean ducked appropriately, spying something that may give them shelter. "Quick, get to the punalty box!"

Quite a ways behind them, Roy barely stood, clinging to the ledge, hardly able to take a step. "Dudes, hold up, I wasn't wearing winter tires!"

Dean looked up in time to see his brother about to get body checked by a Wayne Gretsky card printed in Spanish. "Careful Sam! It's the Great Juan!"

Dean went back for his precious Baby, having seen Sam safely to the other side. With Dean's help, and Sam's helpful shouts of "PUCK! Hurry!" They made it to safety.

"I hope we don't have to cross that twICE," Sam said seriously, totally not inviting the Fate _Will_ be a Bitch, Winchester Law to come into play. Dean and Roy sighed in despair.

"Well, this is just a food store, that apparently had a small hockey card display, so there shouldn't be any more toys in here." Dean felt he was fairly safe in making that statement. Of course, in order to prove him wrong, three men in disturbingly realistic penis costumes featuring _enormous_ balls walked by, cheerfully discussing the viscosity of maple syrup versus chocolate syrup.

Roy shrugged, saying "at least not all the sex toys were upset by this. They seem happy."

Dean sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Alright. Okay. Hockey cards, penis people, and all balls aside, can we please just get the grape juice? It'll probably be in with all the breakfast stuff."

Dean, Sam, and Roy cautiously approached the nearby aisle that had a large, neon sign glowing above it saying BREAKFAST very conveniently. Cautiously because a large amount of murmuring could be heard from that aisle, but none of them were able to make out any words. Dean crouched down to peek his head around. Sam reached over Dean to also peek around. Roy reached over Sam to also peek around. This totally did _not_ have a cartoonish three-heads-sneaking-around-a-corner effect. It also totally did _not_ make Dean feel uncomfortable that his personal space was being invaded. If, hypothetically, it did, there would certainly be a case to make for Sam having done this on purpose. Hypothetically.

"What the hell are those things? They look like some lazy artist took a look at their prescription and gave it a set of eyes. Or eye, I guess." Dean's statement, although far too loud, was accurate. As one, the things all turned to look at the three men, now completely silent. Well, one of them still had a cereal box on the top of its head, so it was just wandering around trying to yank it off, but the _rest_ of the creatures stared in eerie unison. Dean felt the Kill-It-Reflex Department send papers to the Central Brain for approval on overtime.

Roy squinted at them with even less tact. "It was a while ago dudes, but I think one of my old owners had pills like that."

Sam would have facepalmed, but was busy trying to interpret the noises they were now making. "They're minions," he whispered, because everyone knows that Dean doesn't keep up on popular culture despite frequently quoting movies that aren't always twenty years old and watching everyday television, so Sam took it upon himself to inform them. "We're either home free, or in truly deep shit."

"Well then let's try to make a friend, guys!" Roy straightened, hitched up his _tight_ leather pants, and walked cheerfully into the entrance of the aisle. "Hey dudes. My name's Roy, I'm an Impala. We uh, totally come in peace. Just here for some grace juice."

One of the minions looked up, having finally yanked the cereal box up enough to serve as a crown of sorts. "Tior-ted alap mi-stnaw separg?!"

Sam felt a chill go down his spine as all the other minions took up whispers of "Separg? Separg!"

Roy grinned uneasily. "Uh, sure man. I got no idea what you said, but having your own lingo's totally rad, so keep groovin'! C'mon guys, I think we're in the clear. See? Easy."

Not completely believing, Dean and Sam slowly stood and walked until they were behind Roy. The minions appeared to be discussing something in a huddle with the cereal-King, but Sam couldn't make out any of the words. After several moments of quiet, polite "Excuse me dude," and " _love_ the overalls man, totally unique," the two hunters and ex-car reached a comically ornate grape juice display that even seemed to give off a dim glow.

That was nearly empty.

"Damn! This is probably the last grape juice in town!" Sam hefted one of the six incredibly fragile, breakable, and shatter-able, in a totally non-foreshadowing way glass gourmet grape juice bottles.

"Prob'ly 'cause of this," Dean gestured to a flyer tacked to the display, entitled "Suspiciously Convenient Grape Juice Sale! All stock must go! Seriously people, this stuff is almost wine, we gotta get rid of it before someone sues us for making their toddler drunk!"

Sam sighed. "Grab what we can, I guess. Just be careful of these incredibly fragile, breakable, and shatter-able glass bottles." He said stoically.

Each took two bottles, when they noticed that the minions were out of their huddle. Hate-filled whispers of " _Doog syug_ ," were making the rounds around them. They started trying to edge away, with no luck. Finally the cereal-King climbed onto two of his compatriots and announced in a strong, passionate, reaching voice, "Dratsab doog syug! K-catta!"

A resounding cheer of "K-catta! K-catta! K-catta!" was the only warning they got before the minions surged forward, disturbingly violent expressions on their 'faces'.

"Now I really wish I had my shotgun," Dean whined in a whisper. Roy obligingly reached for the _Chevrolet_ logo belt buckle on his _tight_ leather pants.

"NO BABY!" Sam shouted in horror as the minion army fell upon them.

Startled, Roy dropped one of the incredibly fragile, breakable, and shatter-able glass bottles, sending grape juice everywhere. The nearest minions, including the cereal-King, immediately poofed back to their normal forms in a small cloud of purple smoke. Roy, also vulnerable to the powerful, supernatural substance, promptly shrieked, and jumped onto Dean's back to avoid the growing puddle, wrapping arms and legs around the shorter hunter, somehow holding onto the other bottle.

Dean, of course, responded to this by yelling, running, and waving his arms around. He conveniently did not drop his two incredibly fragile, breakable, and shatter-able glass bottles, because he's just awesome like that.

Sam, ignoring the car that was now riding his screaming brother, took the opportunity to follow Dean and Roy, as well as noting the other minions were all gathered, eye/s streaming with tears, around one particularly tall one that was cradling the small toy forms in his hands, sobbing. Others were wrapping "DO NOT CROSS – HAZARDOUS SUBSTANCE SPILL" tape across the grape juice puddle. The normal nuclear hazard sign on the tape now had a bunch of grapes in the middle. Six of them had gotten bagpipes from somewhere and had started playing "Amazing Grace". A voice over the intercom said "pu-naelc elsia ruof, elsia ruof."

Sam felt an unexpected surge of regret as tears stung his eyes.

"Dude! Get off of me, _so_ not cool!"

"I was almost hit, man! I'd'a gone _down_! _And_ it would'a stained my upholstery!"

"... Okay, I can't let anything happen to your upholstery, but you're heavy, Ba- ROY! That had better be one of the guns from the ass-rift!"

"Natural adrenaline reaction, man, totally natural. Nothin' to do with you, chill."

"OFF! … Ew, ew, Sam you got any Purel? I feel used …"

"Open your mind, Dean-o, you guys ride me all the time, let's get some equality here."

 _And_ the tears were gone. Sam grabbed the other two and set a brisk pace towards the cashier.

The cash registers were set up nearby, seven in total. Predictably, Sam aimed first for the number One register, not only because it was the 'Express Lane', but because the penis guys with enormous balls were arguing at the number Six lane, something about whether or not they could return caramel (and various other substances) sauce if it ended up being too sticky. Sam did not want to approach that conversation with a ten foot … pole.

There were, however, a few _minor_ issues.

"We looooove you!" The first register was filled with a dozen hip-high bears, in a rainbow of colours, with childish drawings on their stomachs.

The trio stopped cold.

Sam and Dean knew what they were. The knew the terrible, terrible risk these monsters posed.

"We gotta get outta here," Dean warned, arm already out in front of Sam. There was a waver to his voice, as even Fight burst into tears and went to go join Flight at running around in circles.

"They hunt by movement, freeze!" Sam couldn't take his eyes off the vacant, psychopathic stares.

"Dudes, what's wro-" Roy looked over the brothers' shoulders, and shuddered instinctually. "Somebody had too much LSD."

Unfortunately, they were seen anyway. As one, the bears all turned to look at them, and their bellies started to glow. "Care Bears … prepare to stare!" A pink one called out in a voice that was either induced by helium, or rainbow cupcake unicorns.

"Oh, 'cause that's not creepy at all," Dean said dryly even as Sam dragged him away.

Roy scratched his belly. "Anyone else feel like they need a hug?"

The other two ignored him (though Dean paled a bit), and moved on to the second register. A blast of fire from an enormous, orange, winged lizard with a flame on his tail disabused them of that notion, and it was politely suggested that they find another register.

"Dammit Sam, do we really have to pay?" Dean whined.

"The exit is passed the registers, unless you'd rather cross the hockey players again?"

Dean considered it for a moment, glancing over where teams were finally starting to be reorganized. "Nah, there's no punalty box near the doors. We'd get pucked trying to cross that twICE."

The next aisle was … mystifying. Sam and Dean stared, gape-mouthed, while Roy burst into laughter and shouted "righteous! Oh man, that's karma dudes, right there!"

Dean took a cautious step forward … and so did one of the other figures. He slowly raised a hand … and so did one of the other figures. He gave it the middle finger … and I'm sure you know where this is going.

"Something about this is so wrong," Sam whispered. Two figures stood ahead of them, one 6'1, the other 6'5. They bore a remarkable resemblance to Sam and Dean Winchester, down to the style of the clothing. Other!Dean even had a samulet.

The primary difference was the enormous bobbling heads.

"Not really," Dean countered, relatively calm. "Kinda metaphysical. Like, do these guys have all our thoughts and memories? Could they be allies in this battle? Or is there some kind of hidden, symbolic meaning saying that we need to move beyond our arrogance and hubris, and focus on honesty and a willingness to communicate positive feelings?"

There was a pause.

"Nah, this fic is crackier than my ass-rift." Roy dismissed, scratching the aforementioned ass-rift through his _tight_ leather pants.

Just then, both bobble heads grinned evilly, and their eyes glowed an evil red, and from unknown locations (maybe they had their own evil ass-rifts) whipped out evil weapons that glowed with evilness. Bobble!Sam let out a truly chilling maniacal laugh. Dean shrieked and jumped back. Sam grabbed his arm. "Or they're evil," he griped, dragging his brother away, Roy following, "of course. Why the _hell_ not. I _hate_ teaser aisles."

"Man, somebody take away the author's chocolate milk," Roy muttered to himself. "It's _doin_ ' something to her, man." Sam might've heard him, if the two hunters and the car-turned-man weren't immediately faced with a life-sized Buzz Lightyear in the next aisle.

That is, an _original_ life-sized Buzz Lightyear in the next aisle.

To be more specific, an original life-sized Buzz Lightyear in the next aisle that _hadn't_ learned yet that he was a toy.

Dean yanked Sam down before the laser weapon was fired, but that just meant it went over them and hit Roy in the chest. The impala-man staggered, bearded face screwing up in anger. Dean was _sure_ he heard a revving sound.

"Ah! Seriously not cool dude, that scratched my paint!"

Roy raised his other grape juice to throw, but Dean jumped up and grabbed his arm, dragging his car and his brother over to the next aisle. Just before they left Buzz's sight, Sam called out, the slight waver of seeing a hero fall from his pedestal to his voice, "I can't believe I worshiped you asshole!"

The group cautiously approached the fifth register lane, wondering what eldrich manifestation awaited them. They peeked around.

The glare was many things. It was powerful, commanding. It demanded complete and utter submission to its rule, and guaranteed an eternity of misery for dissenters. It had a subtle quality that promised the death strike when you least expected it, it promised to be the last thing you saw in your final moments on this world before coldly, cruelly ending your pitiful existence. It deceived you, toyed with you, letting you think this was an act of bloody mercy, when it knew that it would soon have you weeping in total, terrible, torment.

It was Pinkie Pie. Buying a bag of oats. With the trembling cashier at gunpoint. Somehow.

Sam felt the Threat Detection Department start panicking, Dean felt the Central Brain approve the Kill-It-Reflex Department's request for over time, appalled at the insult to the name of Pie, and Roy pushed them both out of the way. Once out of sight of the My Little Pony, Roy yelled back, "Four-twenty-five horsepower bitch!"

Dean shook himself free of the glare's influence. "Thanks man. Still savin' us, eh?"

Roy grinned and took the opportunity to pull Dean into a huge hug. "Always. I love you guys, man."

Sam snickered at the look on his brother's face, and debated joining the hug just to piss him off – but, Dean looked close to spontaneous combustion as it was, so Sam just smiled peacefully when Dean turned to him with a distinct 'help me!' look.

"Okay, okay, enough with the hugging, geez," Dean finally pushed away from his car, blushing spectacularly and adorably. He stomped off towards the next lane, the Manly-ness Office marching around with protest signs outside the Central Brain _Head_ quarters. The Acquired Comforting Habits Office submitted a request to leave and get pie. Roy and Sam exchanged glances, laughing.

"Lighten up dude!" Roy said cheerfully, not paying attention to where he was going. Sam realized he should start worrying if they would have to take on the hockey players again, because there was no way he was going to wait in the lane behind the penis guys, who were now trying to get an agreement of store credit if their confectionery adventures didn't work out.

Dean, face still red, took one look in that aisle, turned, and marched to the last register. Roy and Sam followed, neither sure if Dean's face could go any other colours.

The group peeked around to the final register lane. Sam shrugged when he saw it was empty.

"Well, that's kind of anti-climactic." Dean commented, putting his grape juice on the conveyor belt. Sam did the same.

"But predictable," Roy added his bottle, "the author already used up all her half-decent hockey puns earlier."

Sam, already speaking to the cashier, another young, be-pimpled teenager, didn't hear the others.

"Your total comes to $52.78."

"What?" Sam's mouth fell open. "It's _grape juice_."

"Yes sir," the kid said with a cliché broken voice, "incredibly fragile, breakable, and shatter-able glass bottles of _gourmet_ grape juice. Your total comes to $52.78."

"Hey, hey, I thought this stuff was on _sale_ ," Dean protested, slamming down the flyer he suddenly had.

"Yes sir, the incredibly fragile, breakable, and shatter-able glass bottles of gourmet grape juice are on sale. Your total still comes to $52.78."

"Son of a bitch," Dean swore, because what fic is complete without Dean saying that? "Sammy, you got-"

"No," Sam swallowed nervously, "I left my wallet in the-"

"Car." Dean finished. The two of them slowly turned to face Roy.

"No sweat dudes, I've got them here somewhere," Roy stepped up to the counter and reached into his vest-rift.

It started off fairly innocent. In his effort to find their wallets, Roy was taking more and more items out of the vest-rift, things like sunglasses, pens, and various types of bottles.

"This is kind of a total coincidence, I'm sure, but this is just like that scene in Harry Potter," Sam idly commented, watching the growing pile of items.

"Yeah," Dean agreed wryly, rolling his eyes. " _Total_ coincidence. And then there's these." Dean picked up what turned out to be the first of _many_ condoms.

Sam blushed and acknowledged the point.

The cashier's eyes widened as the pile of items began to get more … _diverse_ , especially as a large quantity of colourful, silky, lacy panties started to find their way into the pile. Dean just smirked when Sam looked at him accusingly. Mary's marijuana made another appearance, only now neither Dean nor Sam could stand to actually look at it. Both brothers glanced up at the ceiling, whistling. The cashier started to look a little fearful, whereas Roy was just trying to find the wallets. He didn't seem to notice any of the items.

Amid a handful of panties, a small, black USB stick clattered onto the counter. Sam's eyes widened, and he moved to grab it, but Dean, seeing the opportunity, snatched it first, reading the label (in Sam's handwriting) with glee.

"Porn! Oh Sammy, I'm so proud!"

"Give it back, Dean."

"Aw, my little Sammy's all growed up, hiding porn and everything!"

"Dean!"

"Relax, I'll give it back, just wonderin' what'cha got on here. You shouldn't go too extreme when you're just startin', Sammy. I'm only lookin' out for you."

Sam knew he couldn't let his brother open the files, which were not actually pornography, but several audio files of himself singing several covers of romantic country songs. Complete with humming, crooning, and _bow-da-bow_ sound effects. He _knew_ he never should have saved them. "Says the panty-collector." Dean's eyes flickered to his brightly-coloured collection, and Sam used the distraction to snatch the stick back.

"Oh come on Sam!"

"Nope, not going to happen Dean!" Sam used his superior height to his advantage.

Just then, Roy removed a black leather flogger that had _D.W_. inscribed on the handle. In rhinestones. Both brothers fell silent. Sam gave Dean a sideways glance. The clerk looked on the verge of tears.

Dean's ears went red. "The store was out of anything but rhinestones."

Sam nodded knowingly, "oh, of course."

"There was a sale."

"Uh-huh."

"Fifty percent off if you got it inscribed."

"Sure."

"It was a good deal!"

"Right."

Dean sighed and hung his head. The Manly-ness Office gave up protesting. "Shut up."

"Damn," Roy spoke up, conveniently scooping everything back into the vest-rift. "You guys must'a left them in the trunk. Hang on-" He reached for the buckle of his _tight_ leather pants.

"No!" Sam yelled, grabbing Roy's left arm.

"For the last time dude! THE PANTS STAY ON!" Dean, now conversely pale, grabbed Roy's right arm.

The cashier screamed. Like a little girl. "Just take it and leave! On the house!" He shrieked, running away to the employee's lounge for his union break. There was even a little dust trail, he'd run away from the de-pantsing car so fast.

Sam and Dean paused, still holding Roy, while the biker shrugged. "That was nice of him, but dudes, you shouldn't've scared him like that. Kinda jumpy, these teenagers."

Dean looked at his car incredulously. " _We_ scared him?"

"Yeah man, it's cool, just remember that not everyone's as chill as I am. It takes a special brand of coolness to deal with you two."

Sam and Dean really didn't have anything to say. Roy shrugged their hands off, and gathered up two of the incredibly fragile, breakable, and shatter-able glass bottles, and started towards the doors.

Dean tried to shake himself free of the car's statements, and also grabbed two of the incredibly fragile, breakable, and shatter-able glass bottles, and started towards the doors.

Sam followed on auto-pilot, taking the last incredibly fragile, breakable, and shatter-able glass bottle, and hurrying to catch up to his brother and Roy. He was, however, hurrying too fast, and ended up tripping over – let's say a tree root. Why not? So Sam tripped over the tree root, and in an effort to catch himself, threw his hands out, forgetting that he was holding an incredibly fragile, breakable, and shatter-able glass bottle.

In a conveniently dramatic slow-motion stunt, the incredibly fragile, breakable, and shatter-able glass bottle flew outwards in Roy's horrified direction, and turned end, over end, until it hit

* * *

Always Keep Fighting!


End file.
